


Goes Without Saying

by CassLikesFic



Series: Conversations [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Relationship Negotiation, morons to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassLikesFic/pseuds/CassLikesFic
Summary: They were somewhere between pleasantly warm and nearly drunk when Jaskier looked seriously at Geralt and said, "Do some witchering on me." Geralt snorted and drank his ale, shaking his head."Something small. I'm just curious. I've seen your magic all the time on other people.""It's not a party trick, Bard." Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, in a note that Geralt had come to know meant "I'm not letting this go.""Fine." Geralt tore a piece of bread off the chunk he was eating and held it up in front of Jaskier's eyes. "See this?" He cast the sigil for Axii in his other hand, gently touching Jaskier's mind. "You want this more than you've ever wanted anything. And you can't have it." He pulled the bread slightly away, studying Jaskier's face. Nothing changed. Geralt grunted again. "Didn't work.""How do you know?" Jaskier asked dryly, eyes flicking to the crust of bread before his face smoothed out into its usual pleasant expression."Because you always look at me like that." Geralt tossed the bread aside, surprised at the swiftness with which Jaskier snatched it up. "...hm."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Conversations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631728
Comments: 161
Kudos: 1870





	Goes Without Saying

They were somewhere between pleasantly warm and nearly drunk when Jaskier looked seriously at Geralt and said, "Do some witchering on me." Geralt snorted and drank his ale, shaking his head.

"Something small. I'm just curious. I've seen your magic all the time on other people."

"It's not a party trick, Bard." Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, in a note that Geralt had come to know meant "I'm not letting this go."

"Fine." Geralt tore a piece of bread off the chunk he was eating and held it up in front of Jaskier's eyes. "See this?" He cast the sigil for Axii in his other hand, gently touching Jaskier's mind. "You want this more than you've ever wanted anything. And you can't have it." He pulled the bread slightly away, studying Jaskier's face. Nothing changed. Geralt grunted again. "Didn't work."

"How do you know?" Jaskier asked dryly, eyes flicking to the crust of bread before his face smoothed out into its usual pleasant expression.

"Because you always look at me like that." Geralt tossed the bread aside, surprised at the swiftness with which Jaskier snatched it up. "...hm."

When they went up to the small room they shared, two hours later, Geralt was not expecting Jaskier to shove the small piece of crumbling bread from his pocket at him. He'd practically forgotten about the magic. "What's this?" He grumbled, looking over the piece of crust before discarding it.

"...You said I couldn't have it. I wanted to hold it for a while, anyway." Jaskier said flatly. His eyes tracked the crust all the way to the small pail, without moving to retrieve it.

Geralt cursed quietly under his breath and cast a dispelling sigil, waiting for the look of guilty satisfaction to leave Jaskier's eyes.

* * *

Nothing changed over the next few days, except for the fact that Jaskier composed a rather yearning ballad about a Miller’s daughter with fair skin and golden brown hair. It ended tragically, and put quite a lot of coin in the battered bowl he kept at his feet while he played.

Geralt rolled the memory of the look in Jaskier’s eyes around in his mind, like turning a monster tooth over in his fingers. The question he wanted to ask took time to shape properly. He waited for another inn, another play of the new song, waited until Jaskier was drinking the sticky-sweet cider he favored, then asked.

“Do you always turn things you want but can’t have into songs?”

“Hm?” Jaskier didn’t turn his attention back to Geralt, instead considering the inn’s patrons with the careful process Geralt had resigned himself to months ago. “Usually, yes. I’m a  _ bard _ , that’s what we do.” He glanced over at Geralt, mildly amused. “What’s gotten under your skin, then?” 

Geralt grunted and let it go, finishing his ale.

* * *

Two weeks and careful attention to many songs later, Geralt formed his next question. He waited until he was soaking in a too-small tub while cleaning the remains of a Barghest pack from his skin. Jaskier had turned not watching into a small art form, after the disaster that Cintra turned out to be. While he avoided looking at Geralt bathing, Jaskier re-strung his lute, wrote songs in his notebook, attended to small tears in his wardrobe with needle and thread. The one time the bard was blessedly silent without the request, and Geralt decided he was going to break that silence, purposefully. He asked another question, to Jaskier’s turned back.

“Why can’t you have me?”

Jaskier’s shoulders tensed very slightly as he set down the tunic he was mending. Black, far too large for him. One of Geralt's. He turned and fixed Geralt with a very direct look.

“I think-” He began carefully, raising one eyebrow. “That I don’t understand that question.”

“You look at me like I’m something you want but you can’t have.” Geralt elaborated, more words than he usually strang together for anyone, except Roach. “Why?"

“You’re my friend.”

“Mm.”

“I’m…” Jaskier trailed off, actually at a loss for words. Novel. Geralt filed that away for later. “...a bard. An annoying one. In your company still due to your long suffering forbearance of me.”

“I like your company.”

“...you hate my singing.” Jaskier concluded at last, with an air of finality.

“I like it fine.” Geralt muttered quietly, then let it go. Jaskier returned to his mending, a new line between his eyebrows as he worked.

* * *

Autumn turned to winter, fine snow falling, and then heavier, wetter flakes. The ground grew harder and colder under their blankets, until they were forced to give up on the pretense of separate bedrolls. They settled in against each other as they were both accustomed to, doubling blankets and body heat against the sharp wind. Geralt watched Jaskier watching the fire, wrapped comfortably in the warmth of his arms. It was a good feeling. Comfortable, easy.

“Why can’t a  _ bard _ -” Geralt put careful emphasis on the word, which Jaskier has used twice now as a defense without elaborating. “-have a Witcher?” 

“It’s not that you’re a Witcher.” Jaskier snapped, exasperated at the line of questioning which had stretched itself out through an entire season. He fell silent immediately afterwards. The line between his brows returned.

“You don't like men for partners?” Geralt guessed aloud. He had always given Jaskier his privacy when he wanted to choose a bedmate. The bard didn’t choose to pay in coin for company most evenings, and it was none of Geralt's business which of the eager faces surrounding him he eventually chose.

Easy enough to ignore sounds through a thin wood wall, not pay attention to the timbre of the voices.

Easy enough to meet Jaskier alone in the morning to eat breakfast, after. As long as he appeared, well and whole and happy, which he always did

“I like men for partners just fine. Same as I like women.” Jaskier muttered, making a thorough inventory of the twigs in the fire and their various positions. Geralt noted the heat filling Jaskier’s face with mild interest.

“Not the kind of man you like, then.” That was one thing sorted, at least.

“ _ Gods above _ , why are you gnawing on this like a dog with a bone?!” Jaskier huffed irritably.

“Because I want you.” Geralt said simply. It seemed an obvious enough statement. Apparently, from the widening of Jaskier’s eyes, less obvious than he’d thought. “If there’s a reason you don’t, or think you shouldn’t, I want to understand. If it bothers you to speak of, it’s fine.” He said easily enough, settling down on the bedroll and closing his eyes. He listened to the crackle of the fire, the quiet sound of Jaskier’s breath. The inhale before a question.

“Geralt?”

“Mm.” Geralt kept his eyes closed. He considered the matter settled. If not to his personal satisfaction, then enough to let the curiosity go.

“...nothing, go back to sleep.” 

“Hm.”

* * *

Geralt woke in the morning with his arms empty and Jaskier already dressed. That was a new development. Usually, prying the bard out of any warm, comfortable spot required two hands, considerable strength, and the promise of a hot meal waiting.

Jaskier was in the process of burning four eggs in an iron pan over the fire with fierce attention, jabbing at the mess with a fork. They ate in their usual silence, Jaskier declining to fill the space as he usually did.

"I think I'm still not understanding. When you say you  _ want _ me." Jaskier cleared his throat after eating his own portion, then adjusted the buttons on his doublet. There was forever some part of his clothing that he needed to attend to. "What exactly does that...er. Mean, to you?" 

Geralt thought they both spoke the same language, but apparently this wasn't the case.

“What does it mean to you?” He countered with another question of his own.

“You didn’t answer my question.” It was a fair point, one that merited consideration. 

Geralt took the time to choose his next words with care, unaccustomed to having to elaborate beyond the words “I want this,” except when coin changed hands and he asked for something specific in exchange. For food, for drink, for sex. Usually his answers fell to whatever they were already serving, because it was simpler. Jaskier deserved a better response, which took time.

“I want you.” He repeated, raising an eyebrow. When that didn’t do the trick, he set down the plate he was working on cleaning, and looked at Jaskier with his elbows on his knees, glancing him up and down. “I want to fall asleep with you next to me when it’s not cold. Wake up with you. Have your scent on my clothes. I think about kissing you for too long, my prick gets hard.” He gestured, opening his hand with a mime of tossing something towards Jaskier and raising his eyebrows.

“You know. Want.” Geralt repeated, carefully and clearly, as though his bard was improbably going deaf. After a moment, he held up both his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s fine if you don’t. If you do, though. You don’t have to look at me like I’m that crust of bread. You can have me.” Deliberately, he picked up the plate and the remaining chunk of hard bread, mopping the rest of the yolk off the plate and finishing it. “Thank you for cooking.” He grunted affectionately, patting Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Geralt, you can’t just say a thing like that and then finish breakfast like you commented on the weather!”

“Why not?”

“...It- you know, it’s just-” Jaskier huffed again, apparently a new song in his repertoire. He chewed on his bottom lip, then sighed and muttered, “What do you mean, if you think about kissing me for too long?” 

“Try not to when you’re in front of me on Roach, or when we’re sharing a bed. Alone? Sure. I like your mouth.”

“...Geralt, I’m  _ very _ confused right now.”

“Kissing.” Geralt repeated slowly, holding the bard’s eyes and noting the color rising in his face. Apparently, there were many words that Jaskier sang about that he didn’t understand the definition of. “Putting your mouth on mine, opening my lips, sometimes there’s tongue or teeth. Hand on or above the knee. Kissing? You sing about it often enough.”

"...Right." Jaskier said quietly, his face at least as hot as the embers he had cooked breakfast over. "That's what I thought you meant."

"Why ask, then?"

Jaskier’s mouth opened and closed a few times, like a fish out of water. Geralt was familiar with this expression. He exhaled noisily and went to pack up the bedrolls, waiting for Jaskier’s words to come back to him. They always did, in a rushing stream. He glanced up to see Jaskier standing over him, hands on his hips. 

“I asked because you rarely put more than six words together at a time, and then you just drop  _ I want you _ on me like tossing a boulder in a small pond! And you go on to elaborate about kissing as though I’ve never heard the word and-and-and-” He waved his arms around, the very picture of indignant frustration.

“I won’t again. Don’t worry.” Geralt said mildly, standing easily to his full height and looking down at the bard. He patted him gently on the shoulder again, moving to strap the bundles of cloth to Roach’s back. “You’re safe with me.”

“You don’t even like me.” Jaskier managed to add after a long silence, to Geralt’s back. “At least not enough to  _ want  _ me.” That statement stopped Geralt in his tracks, and he looked at Jaskier for a long time.

“I don’t...like you enough to want you?” He repeated dumbly.

“No! You’ve never- why would I think that you did?” 

Geralt thought of the nights together spent sharing a single bed with Jaskier sleeping peaceful and easy in his arms. Of making sure that Jaskier ate before he touched what was on his own plate. Of tending small wounds with care not to hurt him, small half smiles at amusing jokes. He thought of trusting Jaskier enough to be able to bathe near him with his swords out of reach. Letting Jaskier take things out of his hands without struggle. Allowing a thousand and one small touches he’d tolerate from no one else. Bringing him up to sit in front of him on Roach, the one creature in the world that loved him without question.

He thought of the time he spent enjoying the riot of color and noise and life that was Jaskier. Liking him. Loving him.

Clearly, they hadn’t been speaking the same language. Not for years.

He paused, studying Jaskier.

“I love you.” He said, then added almost as an afterthought, “I thought you knew.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Come find me on tumblr!](https://poisonousbuttercup.tumblr.com/)


End file.
